The Choice
by Leahna
Summary: Takes place immediately following "Ice Age".
1. Chapter 1

The Choice

by Leahna

Takes place immediately following "Ice Age". Lord Roxton finds that sometimes the easiest choices are the hardest.

The lush green of the jungle stood in complement and contrast to the vivid blue sky. Beneath the broad, fragrant fronds hid a world inhabited by diverse multitudes including: two monkeys playing tag – their shrieks echoing like laughter, bright blue and yellow parrots working frantically on their nest, and a score of blood-thirsty trogs ready to attack.

High above the jungle floor, the quiet tree house was filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Marguerite Krux walked unhurriedly up the steps into the common room savouring the scent of her favourite beverage.

Both men had finished their breakfasts, but Lord John Roxton was quick to reassure her, "We've left you plenty of coffee and toast." As if to prove the validity of his statement, the handsome hunter retrieved the coffeepot and poured her a cup of the steaming liquid.

She smiled her thanks, her hands lingering against his as she took the full cup. Their eyes met briefly, and she moved away.

Noting that Professor George Challenger had donned his coat and hat and was even now taking up his rifle, the dark beauty blew across the liquid's surface and took a slow sip of the fragrant elixir before asking, "So, what have you boys planned for today?"

The red haired scientist glanced at Roxton before answering, "We're going to finish a few minor repairs out at the windmill."

"The electric fence isn't working yet?" Marguerite asked incredulously.

"The cold wreaked havoc with the internal components." He replied indignantly. "The extreme temperatures caused many of the wires to become brittle, thereby creating...

Holding up her hand to stop his long winded explanation, the heiress said, "all I really want to hear is the hum from that fence once it is fixed."

Biting back a laugh but unable to disguise his grin, Roxton said soothingly, "we should be back by lunch with everything running smoothly."

"Right," she said unconvinced. She blew absently across her coffee again, then stood quietly. She'd heard something. As she listened, she heard the faint crackle again. "Did you hear that?" she asked.

Above them, the roof creaked. Then, with a rustle and a loud crack, a large portion of thatch landed directly in front of Roxton and Marguerite. Amid the wreckage skulked a large ape-man brandishing a crude stone knife the size of a machete.

As it charged, Roxton moved in front of Marguerite and grabbed the only weapon close at hand: a chair. He swung the chair and caught the trog fully but ineffectually across the chest. The chair fell in pieces, but the trog continued. Following a loud bang, the creature crumpled to the floor.

Across the room, Challenger lowered his smoking rifle.

"I do hate it when guests drop in uninvited," Marguerite quipped.

Challenger grabbed up two more rifles and tossed them to Roxton. Before the hunter could pass one on to Marguerite, another ape-man lunged through the balcony at her. She spun around and threw the precious contents of her coffee cup and then the cup itself, at the approaching primate. It howled as the dark liquid scorched his skin. Hairy hands clutched to his injured face, he fell back, giving Marguerite the time she needed to snatch a rifle from Roxton.

Trogs now swarmed from every opening. They seemed to fill the room.

Despite his blistering face, the trog was determinedly reaching for the dark haired heiress. Quickly, Marguerite readied her rifle and pulled the trigger. The creature jerked backward and landed in a heap on the floor. A rough, hairy hand grasped the adventuress' throat from behind. She was pulled off her feet as another arm encircled her waist. She found it hard to breathe. The raven haired beauty lifted her weapon, and with all her strength, rammed the butt into the ape-man's face. Blood spurted from its broken nose. Howling in pain, it dropped its prize but almost immediately, it grabbed a large handful of her dark, curly hair and pulled her back. Arms trapped against her sides, she kicked her heels into its shins as it half carried, half dragged her toward the balcony.

Lord Roxton had just dispatched another of the ape-men when he saw Marguerite disappearing onto the balcony. He took aim and froze. The struggling beauty was directly behind and against the trog. The spectre of past horrors stopped him cold, sending a vision of his bullet passing through the primate and into his beloved. He couldn't take the chance. He could not kill her like he'd killed his brother. Not again. In one smooth movement, he pulled his knife from its sheath and threw it, catching the trog squarely between its shoulder blades.

Struggling from under the dead ape-man, Marguerite called a sincere, "Thanks."

"Anytime," Roxton replied, then he ducked as a club whistled through the air barely missing him. He leveled the rifle and shot the trog just as it began another swing of the heavy and quite lethal club. Even as the creature fell, another one jumped up and grabbed the rifle barrel. The hunter wrestled with him, each of them refusing to loosen his hold on the weapon. Roxton pushed the primate back, forcing him toward the table where his holstered pistols lay. Grappling one handed, and attempting to keep the trog unbalanced, his other hand fumbled with the holster. He pulled the pearl handled Webley free and fired.

Challenger's rifle was empty. Having no time to reload, he swung it like a club. He caught one trog across the chest. It fell backward and right into the fireplace. Screaming shrilly, it flailed around knocking the burning logs onto the floor. At last it rolled out and ran, trailing the stench of burning hair and scorched flesh.

The room was now filling with smoke, leaving each explorer effectively isolated from their companions. An ape-man knocked Challenger to the ground and threw the scientist over his shoulder.

Roxton pushed a dead trog away and jumped to his feet. As the smoke thinned, it became apparent that every trog left in the tree house was dead. The others had given up although they had taken a prize: Roxton got a last glimpse of the professor as he was carried away. Grabbing a platter, he scooped up the heavily smoking logs and deposited them back into the fireplace. With the pot of coffee, he extinguished the smouldering floor mats. Then, strapping on his holsters, he yelled, "They've got Challenger!" He reloaded his rifle and checked his ammunition. "Come on, Marguerite, no time to waste." He turned to where he'd last seen her. "Marguerite?" Horror filled him anew as he realized that she was no longer on the balcony. Dread grew as he checked for her among the fallen ape-men, calling her name all the while. Relief at not finding her among the dead was short-lived: she'd been taken as well.

Jamming his hat onto his head, Roxton jumped into the elevator, prepared to do whatever was necessary to get them both back.


	2. Chapter 2

Lord John Roxton leaned against the trunk of a large tree, completely out of breath. He just needed a second. The ape-men's trail was easy to follow, but they were moving fast.

It had been a long time since the last trog attack, but how could he have let his guard down and allowed this to happen? He would never forgive himself if he didn't catch up to them in time.

His breath was coming more easily. The hunter pushed away from the tree and resumed his head long dash. He hardly noticed as low tree limbs slapped his face and thorny vines grabbed his arms and legs. Bloody scratches and angry red welts covered his skin. Nothing slowed him down; not marshes, steep hills, or volcanic bogs. His single-minded determination carried him over the long, rough miles.

The trail eventually led to a small clearing. Two steps into the clearing, he stopped short, and dove back into the bushes. Trying to remain calm, hoping that he hadn't been seen, he held his rifle ready. As slow seconds ticked by, he began to accept that he hadn't been discovered. Cautiously, he leaned forward, pushed the brush aside, and peered out.

The clearing abutted a sheer cliff. Crude huts made of mud and palm fronds dotted the area. Here and there, fires burned while trogs roamed everywhere.

Near the centre of the clearing, Challenger struggled against the vines which held him to a pole. He was bruised, had a small trickle of blood down the side of his face, his clothes were torn and filthy, but he seemed in relatively good shape.

"Where are you, Marguerite?" Roxton worried under his breath. He cautiously picked his way around the ape-men's village, careful to remain hidden. He was hampered by dinosaur sized rocks which seemed strategically placed to hinder his view. Frustration was building by the second. His beautiful Marguerite was nowhere to be seen. Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, he took a revolver in each hand. Then, taking a deep breath, he started into the clearing.

A group of trog-children had been huddled together playing some game unknown to Roxton. The game turned into a wrestling match and the whole group moved away in a big, furry brawl leaving the English lord clear view of the abducted heiress who had been bound and left in a heap on the ground. Quickly, the hunter slid back into the shadows afforded by the heavy jungle flora which edged the village.

As tempting as it was to burst into the midst of the ape-men shooting, there had to be a safer way for him to attempt his rescue. He surveyed the area again, concentrating on the area around Marguerite. He watched her carefully, making sure that she was unhurt. She was angry and shouting useless threats but, although tightly tied, she appeared healthy and fully conscious. When he was satisfied, his eyes moved on, but constantly returned to the dark beauty.

Knowing his time was limited, Roxton's mind raced trying to think of something. He stopped as an idea came to him. His eyes widened as he rapidly turned it over in his mind carefully considering every aspect. Yes, it might possibly work! He paused a moment more as the thought of what might happen if it didn't work darkened his mind. He had little choice; he had to try. Time was running out.

Ripping the sleeve off his shirt, he placed several bullets into it. He pried one casing open and poured the gunpowder over those he left whole, then tied the torn fabric around all.

Stealthily, he crept into the clearing at the point nearest Marguerite. Amazed that he'd not yet been seen, he hid behind a nearby rock. If he could just reach her without being discovered…

Shouting from the youngsters proved that hope to be in vain. Trogs were running at him and he was still far from his objective. He tossed his hastily prepared package into a fire and hurried to Marguerite. Shoving one pistol into his belt, he didn't waste time on her bindings, simply grabbed her, threw her over his shoulder, and ran for the trees. Behind them, Roxton's bundle was doing its job as bullets began to zing from the fire.

He gently deposited Marguerite well hidden in the underbrush and returned to the clearing for Challenger. The post where his friend had been bound stood vacant. The hunter looked around hurriedly, but there was no sign of the scientist. Most of the trogs had gone into hiding, whether in their huts or off into the jungle was unknown, but a few were still willing to give chase. He shot two and made his retreat. Espying something on the ground, he stopped just long enough to grab it up. Emptying his pistol as he ran, he returned to Marguerite. He made short work of her bindings and helped her up.

Roxton ran his palm down her cheek. "You're not hurt?" he asked.

Shaking her head, she replied, "No, are you alright?"

"No time," he replied. Taking her hand, he started off along the same path by which he had come. Roxton didn't allow any moderation in their pace until he was sure that they were no longer being followed.

"I'm alright, we can go back for Challenger," Marguerite said as their mad flight slowed.

In answer, the hunter handed her the item he'd rescued from the ape-men's village; it was Challenger's hat – it was covered in blood.


	3. Chapter 3

Roxton didn't speak a word the entire trip back to the tree house. Once there, Marguerite nearly collapsed from exhaustion. Her eyes were filled with tears for Challenger, and she felt guilty at her feeling of relief for having been rescued. She headed for the kitchen where she filled a glass with water and drank all, letting it soothe her parched throat. She turned and looked for Roxton. When she found him, he was standing stoically on the balcony looking out into the jungle.

The beautiful heiress wondered at his unnaturally stiff stance. She approached him, calling out softly and questioningly, "John?" When he didn't seem to notice her, she took his hand.

At first, the hunter made no movement, then he squeezed her hand and slowly turned. He looked into her anxious, upturned face, his eyes full of unbearable pain. Seeing that pain caused her to ache even more deeply. She reached up and touched his weary face.

He pulled her close and buried his face in her dark, curly hair, clinging tightly to her as if afraid to let go. They stood a very long time unmoving, drawing strength from each other.

Lord Roxton was the first to move. He ran his fingertips down her cheek then released her saying gently, "Go get some sleep."

"You are at least as tired as I am," she protested.

"Until the electric fence is fixed, someone has to stand guard."

"Then I'll stay with you."

He shook his head, giving her the slightest smile. "One of us should be fresh. I couldn't sleep anyway."

Reluctantly, she moved away from him. "If you need me…"

"I will," he promised, "Now go on."

Giving in to her exhaustion, she headed for the stairs. Before heading down, she turned back. Roxton had returned to his vigil on the balcony. With a dispirited sigh, she descended to her room.

At first light, Lord Roxton was out finishing the repairs to the generator. By noon, the electric fence was humming, but the dark hunter did not return to the tree house.

By dinner, Marguerite decided that she'd waited long enough and resolved to go after him. "Roxton, you had better be alright," she complained to the empty room, "If you've left me too…" She was unwilling to contemplate coping with that possibility. Snatching up her rifle, she headed to the elevator.

She had just reached the fence when she heard the approach of footsteps. She readied her gun. "Roxton!" she exclaimed with relief as he came into view. He gave her little more than a glance as he passed her heading for the elevator. "John?" she queried as she hurried after him. "Hey!" she grabbed his arm, "What….?"

"It's been a very long day, Marguerite," he said impatiently, "and I am tired. Can't this wait until tomorrow?" She studied his eyes. He did look extremely tired, and he had been awake on guard duty all night. "Okay," she agreed.

The next morning, Marguerite Krux awoke to find only a simple not saying that Roxton had gone hunting. She spent the day alone. He still hadn't returned when she finally give up and went to bed.

Late in the night, she awoke positive that someone was in her room. But, footsteps passed, and she realized that it was Roxton heading to his room.


	4. Chapter 4

For three days the pattern continued. Roxton would leave before Marguerite awoke and return only after she fell asleep.

The grey eyed beauty had had enough of the solitude. She hated being alone; hated it and although she would never admit it, feared it.

When night fell, she didn't bother with either lamps or candles. She seated herself in a chair facing the elevator and prepared for a long wait. She dozed off after several hours and was awakened by the rising elevator.

Lord Roxton walked quietly to the gun rack and placed his weapons and hat in their respective places. Then he slipped off his boots and carried them as he headed toward the stairs. It was only then that he realized someone else was in the room. Startled, he dropped his boots. A loud thud echoed through the silent tree house.

"John," Marguerite started, but he interrupted her.

"Not now, Marguerite," he retrieved his boots and resumed his trek to the stairs, "it's late."

"Please, John, talk to me." she begged.

"That is quite the change," he replied. "How many times have you refused to talk to me?"

"I never avoided you for days on end," she answered.

He turned back. Even in the dim moon light, the hurt on her face was evident. He put the boots down and retraced his steps. He had been so preoccupied with his own pain that he hadn't taken into account how much he had been hurting her. He stopped a few feet in front of her. Not knowing what to say, he waited for her to speak.

"I know why you have been avoiding me."

He could not meet her eyes as guilt assailed him afresh.

"I'm a constant reminder that you made the wrong choice."

His head snapped up. "Marguerite…."

"There is more than enough guilt to go around," the beautiful adventuress said quietly, "I'm alive and Challenger died. The most brilliant man of our time is dead, and you saved a nobody."

"Don't say that, never even think that."

"It's true, even more than you know. I wasn't worth Challenger's life." Roxton tried to break in, but she continued, "I don't blame you for regretting your choice."

"Stop it," his voice began to rise as he stepped forward and took hold of her upper arms, "You don't understand."

Nodding, she said, "but I do, John, you made the wrong choice and now we both have to live with it."

"No," he exclaimed, "There was no choice."

"I don't…" she looked at him in confusion.

"Do you really think I could ever leave you to die in order save anyone else…anyone?"

She tried to study his face in the meager light.

Shaking his head, Roxton let go of his beloved and turned away. "There was never a choice, there was never any choice at all. I am much too selfish to have saved Challenger and let anything happen to you. Don't you see, I had to save you. I'd have sacrificed anyone to save you!"

With a sob in her voice, Marguerite said, "And now you're sorry you did."

"No," he assured her, "never. But don't you see? It should have been harder. Harder to leave… Harder to…" He ran his hand through his dark brown hair. This was so difficult to explain. "There should have been some thought of.…I did want to save both of you. I hoped…I tried…" his voice broke, "but I couldn't."

"John," she pleaded as she reached out to touch him. Her fingers lightly touched his forearm.

His voice quieted as he said, "I couldn't save Summerlee, or Veronica," his words were barely audible as he added, "or William." He took a deep breath, then continued, "And now Challenger is added to my list of failures. They trusted me to protect them and I let them down. I let them all down."

"No, " she assured him, "no, you have saved us all many times. She gently squeezed the hunter's arm. "Besides, Veronica will be back and for all we know, Summerlee may already be in London." In a softer voice she continued, "Your brother was killed by an ape. You didn't fail him; it wasn't your fault – none of them were. Please, John. You hold yourself to too high a standard. You are only human, after all. It's time you forgave yourself."

"I don't deserve you," he said in response.

Misunderstanding, Marguerite nodded and whispered, "You deserve much better." Devastated, the heiress pulled her hand away and started to leave.

He grasped her hand as it fell and they stood face to face. "No, I really do not deserve… You are everything I have every wanted, everything. But I failed you too. I can't give you what you want most. I can't get you off of this bloody plateau."

"You have never failed me."

"I let the only man who could get us home die."

With her free hand, she reached up and smoothed the hair from his face, "then we stay here," in a whisper she added, "together."

He cupped her face in his hands, "I can't lose you."

"I'm not going anywhere," she promised.

"Marguerite, I…"

Quickly, she placed her fingers against his lips, "No, please."

Studying her grey-green eyes which shone even in the darkness, he could see that even though she wouldn't allow him to say the words, she felt the same as he. He bent and pressed his lips to hers. She responded instantly, parting her lips and pressing her body against his. He held her tightly. His arms felt at home as they encircled her. His tender kiss grew demanding and Marguerite sighed in contented surrender. Scooping her into his arms, Roxton carried her to the stairs and down to her bedroom.


	5. Chapter 5

Marguerite awoke alone. Throwing on her dressing gown, she padded barefoot to Roxton's room. It was empty and the bed still neatly made. Dejected, she returned to her own room and dressed. She was still buttoning her blouse when she started up to the main room.

The lovely aroma of freshly brewing coffee put a smile on her lips and wings on her feet. She burst into the room to find Roxton placing a heaping plate of food on the table. "The coffee smells wonderful," she explained her hasty entry.

"Good morning," he looked up, greeted her with a broad smile, and pulled out a chair for her. The specters of defeat which had assailed him for the past few days had been banished. The loss of his friends and family would always grieve him, but his future was crossing the room toward him.

"Not hunting today?"

"Today's hunting I figure to do indoors," he replied with a wolfish was standing in front of him. He leaned down and added suggestively, "I don't expect a difficult chase."

"You seem awfully sure of yourself, you Lordship."

"Any reason I shouldn't be?" he asked, taking her hand and drawing her close.

"Many," she replied breathily, "but right at this moment, I can't think of even one." She melted easily into his arms. When their lips met, breakfast and even coffee were forgotten. Marguerite linked her hands behind his head and pressed against him suggestively.

"Um," the hunter noted, "not much of a chase at all." He nuzzled her neck, enjoying the quiet sighs of his beloved. Marguerite's fingers found their way to his shirt front and began busily unbuttoning the crisp garment. She slipped her hands beneath the blue fabric to revel in his firm, muscled chest. Following her lead, Roxton made short work of her flimsy blouse. As his lips caressed the inviting creaminess of her shoulder, his hand found the camisole's fastenings.

The grinding of the elevator ended their interlude.

As they hastily pulled their clothing together, Marguerite suggested hopefully, "Veronica?"

"Or Malone," Roxton added. They waited while the elevator made its interminably slow ascent, but when the cage came into view, appeared to be empty.

In disbelief, the heiress asked, "But who sent the elevator?"

"Yes, good question," Roxton replied heading for the gun rack.

The elevator ground to a halt. There on the floor lay a heap of dirty and bloodied rags. A low moan emanated from the rags as they shifted. The couple hurried over and helped Professor George Challenger up and into the room.

Laying him on the couch, they fussed over him and examined his injuries. He had a deep laceration across his forehead which seemed to be his worst wound. He was covered in cuts and scrapes, but he was also dehydrated and appeared to have not eaten in days.

After cleaning him up, Marguerite got busy and sewed the gash on his forehead. Roxton forced water down the semi-conscious man's parched throat.

Fevered, the scientist slept on and off for the next several hours. He was barely cognizant when awake. His friends feared that the cut on his head had caused serious damage to his intellect.

They sat with him most of the night. Finally, his fever broke and he slept peacefully.

It was late the next day when Challenger finally rejoined them, fully attentive.

"George, old boy," Roxton said jovially, "we thought we'd really lost you this time."

"I wasn't so sure you hadn't," was the scientist's answer.

Bringing him a steaming cup of tea, Marguerite asked, "How did you escape? Roxton has been back every day looking for you." The hunter shot a quick, questioning look at her. He hadn't realized that she'd known where he went each day. But he should have – she knew him so well.

Challenger took a long, grateful sip of the tea which was heavily laced with honey, then began his story. "I assume it was Roxton who caused the commotion with the trog's fire. They seemed panicked. They snatched me from the pole and threw me into a small cave in the cliff-side. I didn't know what they'd done with Marguerite, so I had to believe that you, Roxton, had saved her. I lay there alone in the dark for some time, until my eyes adjusted to the low light. Then, I saw a small opening just barely large enough for me to squeeze into.

"The tunnel would narrow, then widen only to narrow again. A few times it was so tight I was nearly trapped. After hours of crawling in pitch blackness, it finally opened into what felt like a very large cavern. I couldn't even see my hand in front of my face, so I felt my way along.

"At some point, I found a stalactite, or rather, it found me," he indicated the wound on his head. "I have no way of knowing how long I was unconscious, but when I woke, I was completely disoriented, so I just stumbled along trying to find a way out, hoping to find water. When I finally saw light ahead, I was afraid it was no more than an illusion. Feeling that fresh air reach my lungs and the sun on my face was pure bliss.

"I don't know how I made it back here. I don't remember leaving the cave entrance."

"It doesn't matter," Marguerite smiled, "you're home now."

Roxton got up and walked out onto the balcony. Marguerite watched him with concern and then turned to Challenger, "Anything you need," she smiled, "just let us know." She patted his arm and followed Roxton. He was leaning heavily on the railing. "John," she worried that his self deprecation had returned. "Are you…"

He didn't give her a chance to finish. Turning, he captured her in a hug which nearly smothered her. The tears he hadn't allowed himself before were streaming down his face into her hair, yet he was smiling.

Not being good with emotional idiosyncrasies, she just let him hold her. Roxton felt whole. He had the woman he loved, his best friend was safe, and he was living in a place he enjoyed. Best of all, he felt forgiven.

For the first time in ages, he was whole again.

end


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